Violins

There are girls at our school
Who can play violins,... four or five every year.
They grow up and leave us, but new ones appear!
I see them in halls and in class and about.
They're just average girls; they don't really stand out.
Then one day without warning, they comb out their tresses
And stand up on stage in their long, flowing dresses,
And tucking their instruments under their chins,
They pick up their bows, and they play violins!
They play them like angels! It really is rare,
Sweet enough to cure heart-ache and banish despair.
I've taught many years for minimal pay;
I've faced adolescents day after day.
Teenagers frustrate you. They break all the rules.
They're unmotivated and generally fools.
But just when my cynic's depression begins,
Girls appear...in long dresses...and play violins!
Our school is a small one far in the North.
We live in cold comfort on woe-be-gone mirth.
Our board scores are average; our team never wins,
But five girls in dresses can play violins!
I can hear the gay music afloat in my mind.
It's liquid, then soaring; it's sad and then kind.
It ripples and tiptoes; it dances and spins.
Bare-armed girls in dresses and sweet violins!
I'm long in the tooth now. I'll soon be cashiered.
I haven't been naughty, just cranky and weird.
But I'll know I'm in Heaven, forgiven my sins,
If bare-armed girls there will just play violins.